Monday, April 8, 2019

Warning - this is a little dark and the main reason I’ve struggled with writing for a very long time.

Oh anxiety. Why now?! You have me second guessing every word out of my mouth, and yet rambling like never before. You have me nervous to interact with anyone and everyone, including my husband and children. You make me sound angry but feel scared. You make me wonder if my marriage is in question, if my husband doesn’t want me any more because I’m such a wreck, on such a short fuse and so quick to cry. You make me question the love of my children, if they truly need me, if they would be better without me, if my love isn’t enough for them and they can’t feel it radiating from my pores with every breath I take. You have me shove food into my face I don’t want to eat, certainly don’t need to eat, until I’m aching and miserable and can’t breathe. You make me yearn for silence and dark, my crisp sheets with the curtains drawn.

I’m trying to claw my way to the surface of this grave my brain has buried me in. I’m trying to find the peace and the joy in the simple tasks I love, the people I love fiercely and wholly, far more than myself. I’m trying to find connection with family on all sides, a sense of home among relatives. Im trying to open to friends and allow them back into my heart although so many have left me behind to wallow. I’m trying to push away my self-placed ache of not belonging, being unnecessary, having no reason except to bring pain to those I love. But when I use my voice in a strong, brief moment I get strange looks, rolled eyes, blatant cold shoulders and it plunges me back into the dark. Texts aren’t returned. Voicemails are ignored. Invitations are sent to all but me. And it’s so hard to believe and be and try when no one wants my effort.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

FALSE ALARM! I repeat: FALSE ALARM! No cancerous growths, thank God. I had a 3D mammo and ultrasound by a gaspy, panicky woman who freaked me out and a lovely woman who I’d actually met previously and thought very highly of. I’ll let you decide which is which.

Ultimately:

Thank you and much love to all of you who sent luck and prayers and warm & fuzzy thoughts my way.

Monday, February 18, 2019

Recording my thoughts as I drive and as I sit in a parking lot and while I am in the radiology waiting room. I can’t remember how this started. Middle of the night insomnia, and a self-exam out of 3 a.m. boredom.

Yes, I don’t actually know anything. Yes, the statistics are in my favor. All of the statistics. I am under 40 years old and I am healthy. While I did have clogged ducts while breast-feeding I never developed mastitis. There is no history of women in my immediate family developing breast cancer, at least not that I know of. And yet here I am, after going in to question a lump I discovered a few weeks ago. Here I am less than a week later, rushed in for a mammogram that I thought I would not experience until my 40s, when I would have to begrudgingly make that silly appointment. I have to get an ultrasound on my right breast to find out what those- not one – but two large lumps actually are. And I’m confident that it is nothing. Except right now I am not confident. Yesterday? I was OK. Saturday evening I was swell, with a beer in hand and sarcasm in my voice as I talked to a friend about her experiences with silly offices and boobs and whatnot. But on this sunshiny but cold Monday I am scared to death.

It would be more likely that I would get hit by a semi in an intersection and die from that than to have breast cancer, which doesn’t even necessarily translate to fatality. But here is the bile in the back of my throat and the insomnia for days on end from unspoken fears and here are the jittery and watery scatterings in every interaction I have today.

I had a huge binging episode on Saturday and briefly again on Sunday. But I also drank away my fears with a good friend who had loads of excellent input and made me laugh and had pop culture references that were on par with my own. Teary-eyed texts went to another who I miss dearly and know has been through a similar situation and would be holding my shaky, clammy hand right this effing second if she could.

And then today I stupidly searched Google for images of what a positive ultrasound looks like just in case it comes to that. I googled what it would look like to have a cyst or to have one of the many other possibilities of this foreign mass in my body and then I dragged myself into the shower and cried for 30 minutes straight. I wrote a workout for this evening’s gym HIIT class that seems a lifetime away but really is only in 3 hours. I forced myself to eat some ham lunch meat to stop the coffee churning in my stomach, and then I sat and watched a fluffy movie. I gave my kids extra hugs and watched them play sweetly (and bicker just the same). I dry-heaved until I didn’t and ridded myself of the measley protein I had consumed. I grasped my husband tightly before I left the house.

And now I can’t delay any longer, and I have to leave my car and all I want is to curl into my children and my husband and love and be loved.

But instead, it’s time to squish a boob and take a super expensive picture.

Monday, December 24, 2018

With just one more wake up until Christmas, I'm sure you are all panicking on what to get me for this magical holiday. But thanks to our good friends at Amazon.com there is still time to send me (or someone else, I guess. Harumph.) a unique and kind of amazing gift with it only being a hot second late. Check out my little list of cool do-dads I've found in the last few days for just about every price range!

Wanna keep a secret? So does this subtly-cool leather bracelet with your own message printed inside.

Married to the gym? Not one for arm candy? Ditch the Fitbit and slip into something a bit more subtle - this activity tracker ring is a waterproof way to track your steps and heart rate without smashing your device with a kettle bell swing.

Step up your beer-in-the-shower-pregame routine with an innovative beer and wine glass holder with super strong suction so your glass is never too far from your reach. Afraid of dropping said glass with slippery hands? Pop a bendy straw in your pinot. Duh.

Green thumbs, rejoice! Eat fresh even in the most frigid of seasons with this magical all-in-one aero-garden.

Sunday, November 25, 2018

The other day I was grabbing piles of catalogs and Black Friday fliers and late-to-postmark political advertisement slicks (for all I know. Seriously. I keep getting these and that was solast month) and among those was a brightly illustrated large envelope. Assuming it was a faux key to a local car dealership running some shenanigan promotion, I was majorly close to tossing the package. Last second I decided to glance at whatever junk was inside, and BLAMMO. I basically committed mail fraud because the letter was so totally not addressed to me.

Again this year I utilized the thorough and fear-inducing positive-attitude-motivating site and service, www.packagefromsanta.com! Killer met it with her typical suspicion and then excitement, whereas the Moose experienced nothing short of pure elation and joy. Kid almost pooped himself, he was so excited!

The Silver package includes:

A personalized (and editable) letter from the Big Guy himself

Personalized Nice List certificate (because maybe seeing it in writing helps these rottens actually act like they deserve to be there)

Special shipping label addressed to your child - not to you. See the above paragraph. Do not commit a federal crime by opening your kids' mail. Duh.

Genuine North Pole Stamp(This is the really good stuff!)

Personalized video greeting from Santa!

Personalized call from Santa!

Personalized Nice List Guide

Plus, you have the option to upgrade to even more goodies - and trust me, there are a lot more options to spoil and/or scare your kids to death. Packages start at $14.95, making this a great affordable gift for a friend's child - it isn't just another dang thing to get broken in a few days, it's an experience that years from now they'll remember and think about in a non-jerk way.

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Sunday, November 11, 2018

Ever feel that, as a woman, your sole worth is the dinner you put on the table? Or that your worth is based around folding every recently-soiled-but-now-pristine piece laundry AND put said garments away AND still have time to work out for a tight little bod while simultaneously also cleaning toilets and maintaining your own personal hygiene? Because, hygein. Plus, kids must be baby geniuses and well-rounded (God forbid they watch Teen Titans Go to the Movies fourteen times in 24 hours. Apparently that’s shameful).

This kid here? She's chalk-filthy.

I’m not that mom. I’m trying to be that mother and wife and it simply isn’t me. Between anxiety and ADHD, I’m lucky if I can focus long enough to rinse out the conditioner in my hair. Teeth brushed and clothes on my own not-so-tight bod before 6:30 when I wake up at 5:30 to get a head start? We’ll see...

Spoiler: my kids don’t brush their teeth before bed. They also close-handed punch each other and, occasionally, I pretend not to notice so I don’t have to juggle the drama with all of the above other nonsense. I can keep trying. I am still trying. I still need something for me, though, and it has become more and more achingly obvious in the last year or so because sanity = gone.

So much library train table time. So. Much.

I mean, I want to write more. I do. This is a reprieve for me. Often though, when I have to make a choice in my afternoons between wiping off the counters and then taking Tommy the Moose to the library or sitting long enough to update the happenings or come up with fresh content, Imma choose library entertainment, 11 times out of 10.

But between those moments of imperfection and stress I have found a niche in working out. I know that’s totally cliché, but the endorphins really do help with all of the above. Plus I have connected with so many amazing people through the last few years I’ve spent sweaty time with at my local gym, people that I truly have found a connection with or can call friends/buddies/someone I can mutter cuss words to during exhausted moments without that awkward beat of uncertainty... maybe because of all the times I have come to the gym stinking of the night before’s bottle of wine. Gross. True, and way more obvious after I’m sweating, but gross.

Blah blah blah. My point is, I can officially (and so happily) say that I am a no longer a basic stay-at-home-mom. Starting November 1st I am teaching classes at my sweet little piece of exhausting, satisfying heaven! With last Thursday being my inaugural class (unofficially - I did sub for my friend’s kickboxing class a few weeks ago) I can definitely say that this wasn’t a mistake. I thought I was going to vomit all over the floor before class started from nerves and eyeballs drilling into my forehead, but by the end of it I had hit my groove and was feeling great. Tired, but great.

So, local folks: Thursdays at 9, at Four Lakes Athletic Club! Please let me beat you up! I promise it will hurt only a little. 😉

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